Peeta's Point of View
by MistressMichaelis
Summary: The entire Hunger Games told chapter by chapter from Peeta's eyes. A little more about the romantic side. :D I'll try to be as accurate as possible.
1. Chapter 1

The long, cold night has been full of nothing but nightmares. I abruptly shoot up in my bed, nearly hitting my head on the slope of the ceiling, the scenes of my greatest fear still swimming in my head. Then It hits me. Today is the reaping for the seventy- forth annual Hunger Games. Still struggling to wake up, realize I'm drenched in cold sweat. I walk from my bedroom and into the bathroom and take a shower. Cold water. Oh district 12. I wrap a towel around my waist and go back into my room. A nice clean green shirt with khaki pants are waiting for me on my bed. Sigh... I walk downstairs to the bakery. I stop at the bottom and take my flour-covered apron, drop it over my head, and tie it around my waist. My mother blunders over to me and starts yelling something about being a lazy mutt and how late I was. I was too tired to care. Heartless woman. I was suddenly knocked out of my trance by the blunt sting of a hard slap on the face from the beast.

"Are you listening to me? I said get to work! No breakfast!" she hollered to at me, her hand making, yet again, another searing pain across my face.

Then I walk out the door to get the flour. It is behind the house under a tarp to keep dry from rain. I slowly lift up two of the gigantic bags and flung them onto my right

shoulder. I see something dart away from behind me. I crane my neck and see a girl with black braided hair and olive skin fly past me through the corner of my eye. The girl with the bread. I wish I could talk to her but instead, I stare at her running off with a game bag slung across her shoulder and a bow in her hand. I can never seem to muster the courage to utter a word to her. I also see another boy following her. He looked similar, a game bag and bow with black hair. I feel my body grow hot with jealousy. They both disappeared behind our neighbor's house but before she was out of sight, I saw her steal a glance at me through the corner of her eye. I assume they have just been to trade with my father. My heart fluttered when we made eye contact then I snapped back into reality. I slowly make my way back inside to the bakery.

I immediately drop the flower bags to the ground, which land with the loudest crash, causing the whole house to shake.

"Peeta Mellark! What have you done this time? How many times have I told you not to drop the flour? Look! The sacks have torn and the flour is all over! Clean this up and get another two sacks! If you waste another bag of flour like this, you won't eat for a week!"

She slapped me once again, this time on the neck. Hard. I felt her nails scratch the delicate flesh covering my veins and blood began to run down my shoulder and into my shirt. My hand flew to the three gashes where her long sharp nails had just scratched away the tender skin. It felt wet and warm. My neck started to sting and I pulled my hand away, only to see it was dripping with my own blood. Anger surged through my whole being but I withheld my rage in the knowledge of the great consequences and pain inflicted from my mother. I stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed a clean rag to soak up the blood. Then I went and fumbled through the freezer for some ice. I clawed for the cubes and eventually broke some free from the half melted clump. I waded the cubes up in the rag and held it up to my bleeding neck. I let a sigh of relief slip out of between my lips then remembered the spilled flour. I walked over and looked at the damage. There was barely a cup of flour spilled from the two bags together. I half-heartedly scooped up the spilled flour from the wood floor into my hand while keeping the rag held to my neck with my shoulder. Then I carried the flour precariously to the trashcan and promptly dust it off my hands. I grab the rag right before it slips from its place and look at the red stained whiteness. I feel the gashes and my fingers stick to the leftover patch of partially dried blood. I went to the sink and washed off the blood. Ah... sweet relief. I ignored her order for more flour.

Feverishly recovering from the morning shock, I started kneading the bread dough from yesterday I had saved. It felt good to feel the sticky squish of it between my fingers. I started pounding it, relieving all the anger surging through my veins. After I thought it was a sufficient amount of pounding, I shaped the dough into a loaf and popped it into the now very warm oven. Then I turned to a cake that was already frosted white. A blank canvas. I took some icing colors and started to create flowers and birds for a beautiful spring setting. The art created by my smooth strokes calm me with every movement. I soon am so engrossed in my work I almost let the bread burn. Again. I quickly took the bread out of the oven and set it on the table next to me to cool. Then there was a knock at the door. My father answered and there he was, his brown hair ruffled from hunting and his clothes a little ragged from ware. That boy I saw earlier was holding a dead squirrel

up to my father and talking to him. My father took the squirrel and nodded. Then he came over to the bread, wrapped it up, and brought it to the boy. I think his name is Gale. I watched him run off, avoiding my gaze. Then, I went back to work decorating and baking for the shop until about five minutes before one.


	2. Chapter 2

I walk slowly down to the square beside my mother and father. All faces look grim. This day determines the fate of two children, one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen, each picked by lottery. The two contestants will be forced to face off in the arena against twenty-two other contestants chosen from each district. They must fight to the death and only one child will survive. That child will forever be considered a victor. These are the savage hunger games created by the capitol to remind the people of Panem that they are in charge. And it is all televised to the whole country live. Some children enter their names multiple times in the return of food from the government. This occurs frequently here, in district twelve, where there is often starvation.

We finally arrive and join the whole district gathered around the stage in the square. Everyone takes a seat while the stragglers are left standing in the back. Silence falls when the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to speak. He starts with the same story of Panem; a city in the ruins of North America. He lists the disasters that brought the world to this "glittering" country of Panem divided into 13 districts and ruled by the

capitol. He tells the story of the uprising of the districts; Twelve districts defeated and the thirteenth obliterated as a result, along with the games.

"The rules are simple. One girl and one boy are drawn to compete in the games. The children will be taken to a vast outdoor arena where they will fight for several weeks until one is standing. That boy or girl will be known as the victor. There can be only victor." I heard the mayor say in his sea of words. Everyone knows the rules and that part of the speech is a waste of time. Then the Mayor reads off the past victors from district twelve. There are two. One is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy staggers onto the stage. A middle aged man who appears to be hollering something to no one in particular collapses into the third chair onstage. He is very drunk and seems very confused or disoriented and tries to give a woman on stage a big hug, which she dismisses with haste. The crowd is applauding but the mayor looks very embarrassed since this is all being televised and Haymitch is making 12 the laughingstock of Panem. The Mayor quickly draws attention away from Haymitch by introducing Effie Trinket. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" she announces rather too happily. I notice while she moved, her pink hair was slightly off center. It must be a wig.

It's time to draw the names. I can feel my muscles tighten through every inch of my whole body. Dead silence. "Ladies First!" Effie says, even more cheerfully as she dips her hand into the sea of girls' names.

"Primrose Everdeen." She announces. I am slightly relieved to see who walks down the isle. Her fate is not a pleasant one though.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as a tribute!" I hear a voice cry. I let a sigh of relief escape me only to be taken back when I see whom the voice came from.


	3. Chapter 3

No. This cannot be happening. The girl with the bread! Not Katniss! I can't watch her die! I breathe harder. Maybe in fear. No Not her. She can't be the tribute. My heart aches with fear for her and sadness for her fate. I watch her run up towards the stage. The girl that was chosen before tries to stop her. "Let go Prim!" she says harshly. Then Gale comes up behind her and gently takes prim back to her seat. "Up you go Catnip." I hear his voice shaking, forcing his sorrow down, deep into his heart. Katniss regains herself and steadily walks up to the stage. "Well bravo! That's the spirit of the games!" What is your name?" Effie asks.

"Katniss Everdeen" I hear her reply, also a bit unsteadily. I look closely at her and see her slightly damp black braided hair a little out of place, while her light blue dress slowly flows with her breathing. I look at her face and I see her soft gray eyes. I can see the fear through every inch of her body.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory do we? Come on everybody! Lets give a cheer for our newest tribute!" She trills much too enthusiastically. No one cheers. Or claps. Or makes any noise of joy whatsoever. Unlike the wealthier districts, district 12 considers the reaping a death sentence; nothing to be joyful about.

I touch the three middle fingers of my left hand to my lips and hold them out to her, soon followed by the rest of the district. A symbol scarcely used, it means thank you. It means admiration. It means good-bye to somebody you love. At this, I see the corners

of her eyes start to fill up with tears. Haymitch stumbles onto the stage, rescuing her from sobbing uncontrollably. "Look at her. Look at this one! I like her!" he bellows to the crowd, still very drunk. "Lots of..." he pauses. "Spunk! More than you. More than you!" he cries as he points to nobody in particular and then right into the camera lens. He opens his mouth but before a sound could escape the drunk, Haymitch collapses, plummets off the edge of the stage, and is knocked unconscious from either the drink or a good hit on the head. Then he is carried off on a stretcher.

"Well what an exciting day!" Effie says while she tries to compose herself. Her pink wig is completely off center and I can make out her real hair.

"But More Excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

My body tenses up even more as I see her hand dive into the glass bowl with the boys' names. I know there are many names in there. Mine is in only once while others' are in many, many times. The odds are not in their favor. I can feel the crowd stop mid breath as she reads the name out.

"Peeta Mellark"

No. NO ! This is just unfair! I cannot, absolutely cannot battle against Katniss in the arena! No. The Arena! I'm going to be in the arena! No. The odds are absolutely not in my favor. My eyes widen in the fear and shock finally reaching my senses. I stand up from my seat, desperately fighting to keep myself composed. I walk down the isle onto the stage, still wondering if this is real. This is worse than any nightmare my dreams could've created. It was awful because it was real. I almost lost it while I stood tall in front of the whole district. I try to look at Katniss through the corner

of my eye. She is in shock from the whole affair. I can see fear deep in her face, hidden well by her determination to keep steady. I wonder if she remembers me. At all. We have only had one interaction. And that was almost five years ago.

I was eleven. I had been working in the bakery for about two years but not the craftsman my father was. That day was cold and dreary with pouring rain. I saw a small girl peering into the empty trash bin. She looked so helpless and desperate. My mother went to her and kicked her out. I was watching from behind her as I saw Katniss slowly back away and run behind our pigpen and then behind a tree. I trudged back inside feeling awful. Just then, I remembered I had left two loaves of bread in the oven and it was about time to take them out before they started to burn. I ignored the thought until I smelled smoke. The bread was only burnt the smallest but my mother came over and bellowed at me for wasting it. "Feed it to the pig you stupid creature! Nobody's going to buy burnt bread!" While her back was turned, I carefully slid the window open and tossed the burnt food out onto the ground. Then I closed it, not so carefully and the beast turned on me. She slapped me harder than ever before. Maybe she saw Katniss. I don't know if it was my imagination or not but I heard heavy footsteps coming from right outside the window. Then a pause. Then more thumps and splashes. I stole a glance out the window and our eyes met. My blue eyes with her gray ones. I will never forget that fateful night. The next day at school, I stole numerous glances at her. Her beautiful smile once returned to her face by something. Once, after school, I was simply staring at her, mesmerized. She caught me gazing at her but I quickly turned away, still pondering the events that had happened the previous night.

I just notice that the mayor was talking at the moment where he says we are to shake hands. I take her hand and shake. Then I squeeze her hand in mine; trying to tell her it's all going to be all right. That I would do anything for her.

That I love her.


	4. Chapter 4

Immediately after the ceremony is finished, we are both taken into separate rooms in the Justice building and left there to wait. It is the most exquisite room I have ever seen. The lush dark carpets along with the dark red velvet chairs and sofas.

The Door opens and my father slowly walks in, clearly still badly shaken from the whole affair. He sits down on my left and hugs me. I can feel his fear and sorrow through the way he shakes.

"Well my boy, this is it. So incredibly unlucky." He groans. He then reaches into his bag and pulls out a small paper package. He hands it to me to unwrap. Cookies. Baked just this morning. "No." I say." Don't give them to me. I would like you to go over to Katniss' room and give them to her ." I say. "What, are you sweet on her or something?" my father commented. I knew he was only teasing me. Always trying to lighten up the mood. That just made me miss him even more. "And also. Can you please take care of her family? Maybe drop a loaf of bread off at her door occasionally if you think they could use a little help." I said. He nodded his head right when the peacekeepers came in. "Your time is up." They said to my father. Before he left, he hugged me again and whispered in my ear "Good-bye son and good luck." "Bye dad." I whispered back

trying to hold back the tears collecting at my eyes. Then he walks out, closely followed by the peacekeepers.

Right after the door closed, I started sobbing and collapsed onto one of the lush couches. What am I going to do? I have no survival skills. Even if I did somehow manage to get a weapon I wouldn't know how to use it. I'm not coming out of that arena alive. The one goal in my mind is protecting Katniss. I can't let her die. She has so much more to lose. And if she dies, I don't know what I'll do.

I am soon directed outside the building to the train station. It is usually only used for coal miners. Waiting for me are hundreds of reporters taking pictures and asking questions. I don't respond to any. I know my face is still awful from crying but I abandon any attempt to mask my emotions. We are finally allowed on the train after the reporters had had their fun. As the door slides closed, the train immediately jolts to a start. I stumble back and then catch a glimpse out a window. The landscape is rushing past me faster than I could've imagined. At 250 miles per hour. I take a look around the car. The tribute train is fancier than even the Justice Building. Katniss and I are both given our own chambers. Instead of boiling water on the fire for a bath, where is an endless supply of hot and cold running water. The drawers are filled to the brim with clothes.  
All my size I think. I strip and change into a nice pair of Jeans, with a plain yellow t-shirt, and brown shoes. I then take a few minutes to look around. The luscious velvet furniture; something I've never imagined I would set my eyes on. I simply spend the next hour walking up and down the halls, around my room, on my bed. Thinking. What am I going to do? How am I going to survive? No I cant survive. I can barely manage a weapon; let alone a lethal one. Katniss... How was I so unlucky to have gotten drawn with her little

sister. I would feel horrible fighting her sister; her being twelve; but katniss... How can I fight her, let alone kill her. I can't. I can't try to kill anyone. I'm not coming out of this alive. I am suddenly interrupted by the sound of a loud figure making his way down the hallway down to his room. Haymitch soon blunders by, very drunk. As always. "If anyone asks, I'm taking a nap. No disturbances." He slurs through the fog of alcohol. His breath reeks of the stench as he talks to me, and I am very happy when he walks away, taking his awful breath with him.

After a few minutes, I hear high heels clacking against the floor echoing down the hall. Effie is coming to retrieve me for dinner. I do not want to go. Of coarse, im hungry, but I don't want to face the capitol people. "Peeta!" Effie calls "Time for dinner! I can tell you'll love it!" She walks towards me. I'm stupidly standing in the middle of the hall just staring into the distance as Effie grabs my hand and guides me to the dining room. The car has polished walls with another velvet carpet. I sit down at a seat, awaiting food to be served. The table is long and narrow, laid with several very breakable dishes. Effie then walks out for a minute then comes back, with someone behind her. Katniss. She is wearing a dark green shirt and pants with her hair in a simple braid. I spot a small shiny gold pin on her shirt. It must be her token. I look more closely and I can see it's a mockingjay; surrounded by a small golden circle. Now I wish I had thought to bring a token. No going back now.

"Where's Haymitch? Effie asks  
"Last I saw him, he sais he was going to take a nap." I reply

"well, It's been an exhausting day" Effie says. She looks very relieved of Haymitch's absence. I really can't disagree. Personally, I don't want a drunkard around me twenty-four seven.

Supper is served and it is amazing. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops with mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, finally ending with a scrumptious chocolate cake. Every now and then, Effie reminds us to save room for more. Of coarse, Neither I nor Katniss heeded her warning. I stuffed my face full of the amazing food. I had never had anything equivalent to the capitol food. As we are finishing the main course, Effie comments "At least you two have decent manners. The pair last year ate everything with their hands, like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I remember the two tributes from last year. They were both from the seam; district 12's black market. They never seemed to have enough to eat. Not once. Hunger isn't an uncommon cause of death in district 12. Because of this, I utterly despise effie's comment. Apparently, Katniss did also. She then placed her fork and knife down and ate the rest of the meal with her hands, ending with wiping her hands on the tablecloth. Effie's lips pursed together in distaste.

After the meal, it is as if my stomach refuses to digest the capitol food, as if it is a poison. I am fighting it to keep quiet. I look over at Katniss and she looks a little green too. We then go to another compartment to watch recordings of the reapings. Names drawn one by one from the glass balls. Occasionally, a volunteer steps up but more often not. I closely study the careers. All very powerful. They may be my only chance of surviving I think. Not that I want to join them.

Finally they show district 12. Prim's name is called. I watch Katniss run up the isle, pleading to take her sister's place. Then I see myself on the screen. My blue eyes widened at the sound of my name. Then the silent solute.

Effie Trinket starts ranting about how awful her wig looked. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

I laugh. "he was drunk." I say. "He's drunk every year."  
"Every day." Katniss adds. I start to chuckle even more at this.  
"Yes" Hisses Effie "how odd you two find it amusing. Your mentor is your

lifeline to the world in these games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!" Then, as if on que, Hamitch blunders in and says "did I miss supper?" through a haze of drink. Then he vomits all over the carpet. "So laugh away!" says Effie as she hops in her pointy shoes, avoiding the muck.


End file.
